The Price of Supply
by 80sarcades
Summary: Ever wonder about the guy that filled Colonel Hogan's requests?


**The Price of Supply**  
**by 80sarcades**

A/N1: For reading enjoyment --

(a) the 'Police Gazette' reference is real; it was one of the early forerunners of Playboy, tabloid style. People would read it for the articles, you know. And if you believe that…

(b) NCO stands for Noncommissioned Officer (a sergeant, in other words)

(c) Quartermaster (as in Quartermaster Corps) is the oldest logistics branch of the United States Army; its main mission is to keep the Army supplied with everything short of ordnance (ammunition, in other words). While it might not be glamorous -- as opposed to being in a combat unit, for example -- the Army couldn't survive without it.

This short story was a personal challenge to myself: how would you write a _Hogan's Heroes _story without mentioning the heroes OR the camp by name? So here we go. Rated T for language. SHEAF actually didn't exist until late 1943; for this story, it was created a bit earlier.

I have another short story ready -- _Mother Knows Best_ -- but I still have to finish editing it. Life does intervene, unfortunately.

Disclaimer: If I owned Hogan's Heroes, would I be writing free short stories about them?

-------------------------------HH-----------------------

Sergeant Joseph Jones looked down at the list and sighed heavily.

_What do these jokers want now?_ he thought sourly. _They're ruining my life!_

Six months ago, everything had been different. Back then, he had been a quartermaster staff sergeant unofficially responsible for keeping the top officers for Supreme Headquarters, Allied Expeditionary Forces, supplied with what they needed. Even the top brass needed their comforts; why shouldn't he be able to make a few deals on the side?

Unfortunately, one of those very deals had come to the attention of the Army's Criminal Investigation Division (CID). As the charges against him snowballed, Joe realized that there was a very good chance that the Army would send him to Leavenworth Military Prison to make big rocks into small ones. That, of course, didn't even count the dishonorable discharge he would ultimately receive. He was screwed, in past and future tenses.

Then the Army offered him a deal of his very own.

Because of his unique abilities -- even the investigators had been impressed with all the deals he had been running -- a light Colonel offered Joe the chance to redeem himself and put his talents to use for the Army. The deal seemed simple: All he had to do was to help supply a small Allied operation that was operating in the middle of Germany. That was it.

In exchange, the Army would overlook the charges against him and would even allow him to continue in his regular job. What really sweetened the pot was the fact that he had no other duties -- besides this German thing, of course -- to interfere with his cushy life. Naturally, he took the offer; what choice did he have?

Of course, there were conditions. He had to sign papers promising to stay quiet about what he saw and heard -- or else -- and he would have a officer in charge that would 'oversee' his duties. Joe didn't worry about that too much; there were ways to get around the higher ups, and who really needed officers anyway? Besides which, he was good at keeping secrets.

His own, at least.

Joe had no idea that he was supplying an operation run underneath a Prisoner of War camp, or the crazy requests he would receive from there.

If he had, he might have chosen prison.

At first, the requests were simple. Joe didn't worry about the weapons or explosives; that was something for ordnance to take care of. As for the rest, he got requests such as:

**Three (3) pairs of stockings, silk**

**Two (2) bottles of French perfume C'Dior.**

Now stuff like that he could handle. That was the kind of thing the Generals usually wanted for their mistresses; he always kept a good supply of both types. Joe really didn't worry about those kinds of requests or what they were used for; the quicker he took care of them, the better.

Then the requests started getting a bit stranger by the month. Little things, like this one:

**Request order number 57-565-89922C. Six (6) dozen.**

That was one he had to look up. It took five minutes to actually find the damn thing in the procurement book; he read the description and sat back, stunned.

_Condoms! Jesus Christ! What the hell are they going to do with six dozen condoms in the middle of Germany!?_

Then again, he wasn't about to ask questions. It was just like that time with the General…what was his name, Lesterby? Joe had never asked him what he was going to do with that sheep, either.

Even at that, there was no problem. He prided himself on being able to deliver anything; that was what a great scrounger was for. It had made him popular with most of the high brass, anyway; you just couldn't get good stuff here in England anymore. Besides which, the Colonel had made it clear: whatever these guys wanted, they got. No questions asked.

Who was he to argue? So what if he got some strange looks; it kept him out of jail, didn't it?

Two weeks later -- just when everything seemed calm -- the next weird communication had come in:

**Request six (6) copies of Police Gazette magazine, 1939 dates, assorted issues.**

_Just where the hell am I supposed to find those!?!_ he thought.

In the end, a buddy back in the States found the issues for him. Using the authority granted by SHAEF, Captain Stebbins used a priority code to ship the magazines by air to England. Another order, this one forged with the Captain's signature, ensured that two cases of Jim Bean bourbon whiskey would be on the same flight. Joe followed a simple rule in his dealings: if it wasn't proscribed, it was prescribed.

And if it was proscribed, ignore it anyway and do it.

As the weeks and months dragged on, the requests for special drops to this one unit poured in, keeping him busy. Even the Generals had limits on the oddball stuff they wanted. These guys, whatever they were doing, didn't. It got to be so bad that he had to bring in another NCO -- this one a buck sergeant -- to help him take care of the senior officers; he just didn't have the time. That little bastard then tried to take his regular operation over by stealing half of his damned stuff. Fortunately, officers were useful at times; Joe hoped the prick enjoyed his new posting in Alaska.

With each new order for his services, Joe cringed. The messenger that brought the lists soon learned to leave them with one of the English secretaries if he didn't want to be cursed at. Even on his birthday, he wasn't free of the damned forms; sighing, he laid his copy of _Yank_ magazine down and began to read the thin paper. This one was a doozy:

**Request following items by priority air drop:**

**Two (2) boxes of sanitary napkins, Kotex or similar. Unavailable local economy.**

**One (1) pair bra, woman's, size 36C, in red silk or similar material**

**One (1) pair panties, woman's, size 6, same style as above**

**One (1) pair garter belt, woman's, same style as above**

**Two (2) pairs silk stockings, red or matching above**

**Three (3) bottles, Scotch, premium**

**One (1) bottle, Brandy, premium  
**

_Now this is going too far!_, he thought angrily. At least the damn brass was discreet; he had never been asked for _that_ kind of thing. And to happen now, of all times…

He showed the list to his Captain; to his surprise, the other man laughed and told him good luck. By chance, he passed by the Lieutenant Colonel that had originally briefed him and showed him the paper. That officer was sympathetic, but gave him the choice: follow orders or else.

The light bird had really gotten nasty when Joe complained; he reminded the sergeant that he could (a) still be tried by general court martial for his earlier crimes and (b) gave him a quick summary of the penalties he would face for violating Article 94 of the Articles of War. Not to mention the insubordination charge under Article 63 that he would be obliged to throw in.

The whole mess left Joe steaming in rage. _Damn officers!_

With no experience in shopping for lingerie -- it was more fun to see it on a woman; he had no idea where they got such things -- he turned for help to another officer, this one a female. Although it was strictly against regulations for officers to fraternize with enlisted personnel -- much less date them -- there were certain advantages in gong out on the sly with a quartermaster sergeant. After some pleading, she agreed to help him find the lingerie even if he couldn't tell her why he wanted it; his 'for the war' excuses fell flat.

Fortunately, it wasn't much of a problem to get a transatlantic call to the States; he had fixed that in advance just in case something like this happened. After some really unnecessary chitchat, his date relayed the request to a friend of hers. A short time later, the package of lingerie -- sent via the same air service -- was on his desk. Joe resisted the temptation to put a note with it before it was shipped off; the message he had in mind would probably get him court-martialed for sure.

Soon after that, Sue broke up with him. Apparently, she and the other women on the post talked; none of them wanted anything to do with him from that point forward, no matter what he offered. That even extended to the English broads off post; one of them actually asked him if his underwear was…well, a bit cheeky was the way she put it.

_Officers! You couldn't trust them at all!_, Joe fumed. And there was nothing he could do about it!

Frustrated by it all, Joe began to drive out to the rifle range on a daily basis. The .45 caliber slugs he fired downrange did little to ease his mind; instead, he wondered how the hell he was going to get out of this mess. Even a combat posting seemed like a vacation. How could it get any worse?

Finally, the straw that broke the camel's back arrived; it came in tucked away at the end of a long list:****

Request following items, priority air drop:

**Three (3) replacement radio tubes, part 64-JC3**

**Three (3) replacement radio tubes, part 56-T3**

**One (1) magnifying glass, small type**

**Two (2) bottles, seasoning spice**

**Six (6) rolls of film, J2 mini camera type**

**One (1) female, redhead or substitute, measurements 36-24-36. If first number unavailable, request substitution for higher number.  
**

Captain Stebbins was enjoying a ham sandwich in the peace and quiet of his own office when the door burst open and Sergeant Jones flew in. The NCO threw a paper on his desk; his face was red with rage.

"FUCK IT, SEND ME TO LEAVENWORTH!" he screamed, spittle flying everywhere. "YOU CAN HAVE THIS JOB! I QUIT!"

[fin/ende]

A/N2: The ultimate irony: All of the requests were ultimately made by...an officer.

Article 94 was part of the Articles of War -- Military Law -- for the Armed Forces of the United States before 1951; since then, its been the Uniform Code of Military Justice (UCMJ). Among other things, Article 94 dealt with misappropriation of Government property. Article 63 deals with insubordination (having disrespect, in other words) to a superior officer.

Lieutenant Colonels were sometimes referred to as 'light Colonels' or 'light birds'. There are two types of Colonels: Lieutenant Colonels (silver oak leaf) and Colonels (eagle); both were usually referred to as 'Colonel.'

As a side note, the _Enola Gay -- _the plane that carried the first atomic bomb -- carried six prophylactic (condom) kits as part of the many good luck charms it carried. Supposedly, they were to be used if the bomber was forced down where there were friendly natives. Fortunately, they never had to put it to the test!


End file.
